The F Word
by TheMonarchyOfRoses
Summary: Zoro tries to reconcile his punk lifestyle and fatherhood, two polar opposites in thinking, teaching, and living. *(Set in the real world)*


By the grace of God he managed to wake up before noon. Clocks were too suburban and luxurious for Zoro's taste. A burst of bitter, cold air was his daily wake up call. He languidly rose to a sitting position and instantly regretted it as the unfiltered sunlight peered through the window... hole thing. There _was _a window at one point, he was sure. He went to scratch his head but a bottle hit him rather hard. He looked to see that both of his hands had bottles duct taped to them; Jack and Jager respectively.

Only through using his scarred feet could he remove the emptied liquor bottles. Still half asleep, he sauntered around his disheveled room and found decent enough clothing for the day. Keep in mind, decent clothes meant that they were still in tact. He tiredly yanked some dark green pants on and a foul smelling white shirt on, Doc boots accompanying him with a black pea coat covered in what could very well be multiple spit wads and/or results of excessive masturbation. It didn't matter either way. Even though he was your typical loser, he was at least lucky enough to be somewhat protected from winter's harsh weather. It was Saturday, and that was Zoro's favorite day by default.

He shimmied through the window hole onto the fire escape and made his way down until he reached where it ended yet there was about ten feet between him and the ground. Why the fuck do almost all fire escapes do that?! That's just a big fuck you to those trying to escape a burning building. Zoro was a definite advocate of natural selection, but this was just cruel. At this point he didn't feel like walking back up fifteen stories, so he just jumped down the small distance and welcomed the slight pain that rushed through his feet and ankles. He had about twenty miles to go.

He was a slightly responsible adult and saved some money; enough to get him around town. Paying the city bus around three dollars, he sat in between a crack whore giving a nigger a handjob and a bum sleeping on three seats. What bothered him the most was that this didn't bother him in the slightest. If you put your over privileged white kid in this city, he'd be crying within eight minutes if they were left completely alone. His mind escaped him again, he was already thinking about Tony and it was only 10 am. The bus stopped and so did the whore's hand. He got off and walked the next five zig-zagging blocks all by himself as he was drowning in the sea of civilization. He reached the Holy Mountains by noon. The poor man climbed twenty-two stories before he was at his desired floor. But he still had to reach the end of the hall to get to apartment 419.

He coughed obnoxiously. He _hated _Holy Mountains more than hangovers. The only good thing about the complex was that all of the stupid religious people congregated in one area other than a church and killing them would be a lot easier say he used a Molotov to burn this place hotter than hell. All the time he had to deal with close-minded assholes who sneered at him for having green hair, three ear piercings, and various tattoos visible when it was warmer out. It's funny how the commandment "Love thy neighbor as you love thyself" only applies until your neighbor has a gay sexual orientation, body modifications, different philosophical views, or when they believe in a different God than you. Whoever built a homing system for just Christians deserved the breaking wheel.

Thank hypocritical GOD he finally made it. He pounded on the door three times and waited. His eyes wandered around the dimly lit, beige painted, Purell doused hall. A nun was reading from a bible until her eyes met his. She made the cross on herself and began praying as if his glance carried the Devil within. Before he could be an instigator and call her a whore, the door abruptly swung open so he could have the pleasure of seeing his charming fling. She had her curlers still in her messy hair and pajamas accompanied by a robe. Her eyes were pretty sunken in today. He inferred that the useless bitch partied last night again.

She didn't even bother to address him formally. "Come on, kid. He's waiting for you!" He was bothered by that. "She has a name." Zoro said.

"Yeah, I know," she coldly replied, face deadpan, "and I bleed out of my pussy every month but I don't make that public knowledge." He cringed at the analogy. Ever since that day he woke up next to her he still wondered what the hell he was on that actually made her appealing and even attractive. Maybe she wasn't as bitchy that night. He hated to think it, but she'd be fifty percent less ugly if she weren't such an asshole.

A whirl of wind made her robe flow; a flow caused by the excitement fueled run by their daughter embracing her father after another set of five long days without seeing him. A great release transcribed out of him within that hug he shared with her. Just as he picked her up and was about to ask her mother if she had everything she needed for the weekend, the door was shut and locked three times. He flared the door and chuckled at the nun's aghast reaction he saw through his peripheral vision.

"Daddy these clothes suck dick." She quietly murmured. Usually your typical parent would scold their five year old on swearing like that, but he if anything encouraged in it. It wasn't like she was wrong, either. That crazy skank had her in her Catholic school uniform. Visible glue patterns of patches used to be before being ripped off by the principal added to the innocent and ghetto like quality of the vomit masqueraded as clothes. Zoro was a good parent and had her outfit stashed inside a secret pocket in his jacket. He darted into the girl's lavatory (yes, this insane asylum had gender designated bathrooms) and got them into the cripple's stall. He had her changed into her Ramones shirt, which were already her favorite band, a black jacket, her red plaid kilt that he got from his brother back in Ireland, black tights, and her little Doc's. Now she was presentable.

They walked through the streets on the way to his buddy SteveO's house. It was hard to get in one on one bonding time with his daughter when you were basically sandwiched in between ceaseless traffic and a sidewalk and skyscrapers filled with humans. It was also hard to walk down the city streets without running into early drugged out assholes who decide to use the middle of the sidewalk to get naked and brawl with the other crack heads. They cut through an alley that would reduce the walking time by about half. They were having a conversation on what they were gonna do today when she had to point at two bums fucking right in the dumpster. All of his impulses were telling him to leave but his muscles failed him. This was far from the first time he's had to watch the painful sight of gay homeless fornication, but he never had her with him. He pulled out of his stupor and darted away from the scene, almost running. They were less than five minutes from SteveO's house now.

"Daddy, what were they doing?" She asked innocently. Zoro never lied to nor condescended to her before, and even if he didn't like it, he wasn't going to start it now, even though this was awkward as fuck.

"Honey... darling... baby girl..." He strayed off. The glare she gave him when he looked down at her in his arms told him that he wasn't getting out of this one. "Do you remember when you were watching those two dogs do a funny dance on TV together?" She nodded. "Well, that made them have puppies because... they were having sex." She took it in so casually, like if he told her that his hair was dyed.

"When do I have sex?"

"When I'm a dead motherfucker."

They walked into SteveO's house. What he liked about it was that it wasn't in the more dangerous parts of the city, like where he actually lived. The deal was that he and his kid could crash here on weekends so long as they kept SteveO's dog Cholly alive. The sad truth was she didn't know that he really didn't live here at all, but she never did question, but again there was no indication or reason to.

He plopped onto the couch on his back and felt the nice luxury of real furniture. He was dozing off easily until she climbed onto his chest and stared at him intently.

"Does daddy get a nap baby?"

"NO!"

"Please honey. Nap with me." He grabbed her and laid her down on his chest despite the struggles and protests. She quieted down fast and wasn't far off from falling asleep with him. Green eyes and a high sleep drive were the hereditary chains they shared. Her hair stayed a light blonde because her mother would have a shit storm if he even thought of dying it (her hair would be perfect for violet). She wanted it shorter too, but her school only allowed the same length of hair for the girls which reached a little past their shoulders. They small family fell asleep together for a few hours and woke up at around five. Yes, of course seven hour naps were typical. Seeing that it was winter time already it was dark out. He grabbed both of their jackets and headed out after feeding the useless mutt.

"Where we going?"

"To see Nicky and Steve play tonight." She beamed.

They got to the abandoned subway where the Curse of Sorrow played. All kinds of punks mingled here, ranging from your Irish to your Skankers to your really hardcore. He had a little crevice for her behind the ticket booth that was close enough for her to see and her the band but safe enough for when the inevitable chaos ensued. Kissing her forehead he left to go to the front like usual. He got lost in the songs of digging up them corpses and fucking their maggot filled eye sockets. Hits of acid were being passed around and usually he'd partake but he had a strict adherence to abstain from shit like that when she was with him.

They were getting to the end of their set list when some dicks were getting everyone involved in the moshing. This was to be more or less expected but he didn't feel into it enough. However the whole audience felt like it so he was submerged into a sea of tripping punching punks. One guy tried to smash a bottle over his head but his reflexes were better and he popped the kid in the mouth before he was even touched. A few people ganged up on him and even managed a few god hits, but he overthrew them, smashing two heads onto the concrete floor. The pigs showed up and starting hauling them away, Zoro included. He was screaming at them to let him go or at least make sure his daughter was okay, but they didn't even listen to what this loser had to say. He was brought outside and shoved into a cruiser.

He banged his head against the window in worried frustration. The spot should keep her safe and hidden, but what if she tried looking for him? What if some douche found her and God forbid it but took her? His mind raced for solutions to the debacle but he was screwing himself. He couldn't help but eavesdrop into the conversation of the piggy who got him and his friend. He also just noticed that their cruiser was the only one left. He made out something about there not being gas to go or some stupid shit. They walked around the corner to the gas station. In a stroke of rare genius, he turned around, propped his feet onto the window, and kicked it over and over until it popped out of its frame. It slid and shattered and he got out and raced back inside the subway.

Nobody was left besides the band, and the first and most welcome sight he saw was Nick teaching her something on his guitar. He ran over there and yelled her name. She ran to him and they embraced. She got upset when she saw his marked up face, but he sternly looked at her. Crying was almost never an option. "Thanks for watching her boss."

"No problem Zoro. You should've seen her, man! She's a little fucking monster!"

"What the fuck do you mean?"

When Nick was done with his fit of laughter, he proceeded to tell him that after he got hauled away, some prick found her and grabbed her and was taking her away, but she kicked his ankle so hard he stopped, then she hooked him his solar plexus, and grabbed the knife that fell out of his jacket. His grin was widening with each word. It seemed that the training had paid off.

When they to back to SteveO's house he tucked her into the master bed and kissed her goodnight. But she called him when he left the room.

"What is it?"

"Will you sing to me daddy?"

His muscular hand rested on the door frame and he contemplated. Not whether or not to do it, but what song. He sauntered over to her bed and laid down, still thinking. "How does some Ramones sound?"

She nodded. He sang to her I Wanna Be Sedated in the hopes that she would subliminally understand the message. As much as she liked napping and sleeping, she was a night owl. She finally fell asleep after the fourth loop. He was going to go back onto the couch, but his body was already comfortable with where he was.


End file.
